


your hand in mine

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Series: rie's destiel smut bingo [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Succubi & Incubi, Witch Castiel, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 05:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: A spell gone wrong forces Dean and Cas to keep in physical contact. Easier said than done, when one of them is a succubus and madly and secretly in love with his best friend.Written for the Destiel Smut Bingo. B4: Under a spell.





	your hand in mine

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in weeks but found the time today to pick this up again. Unbeta'd. Hope you enjoy.

When your best friend is a witch, you learn quickly that the term „normal“ is a matter of definition. Cas had been six when his powers had manifested, and since then, Dean and him had gone through some weird times. He had found frogs in his underwear drawer more than once. One day, he had to go to school with moss instead of hair. But all in all, Dean wouldn’t change a single thing about their friendship. That is, some things he _would_ like to change, but he’d given up on that years ago.

So when Cas calls him one afternoon and tells him to come over because he doesn’t feel well, it’s just another day in the life of Dean Winchester.

When he opens the door to Cas’ flat with his spare key, he finds Cas on the couch, looking like shit. Dean’s by his side in three longs strides.

“What the hell happened?”

“I …, “groans a very pale Cas who for some reason doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes, “had a session with Charlie and Dorothy. They wanted to try a new spell for romantic couples, but something …” Cas clutches his stomach and convulses, and Dean notices that Cas – stoic, quiet, zen Cas – fiddles with the hem of his shirt as he adds weakly, “went wrong”.

Dean’s hand hovers next to Cas’ face. He’s very careful who he touches, hasn’t touched Cas in years, since his succubus had manifested, and, well, since he’d become aware of his more-than-friendly feelings for his best friend. Instead of stroking Cas’ sickly grey cheek like he wants to, he straightens and goes to the kitchen to get a wet cloth and make some tea. The water takes years until it boils, while Dean ponders what Cas just told him. A spell for a couple gone wrong, huh? That can mean a thousand different things.

When he comes back to the living room, Cas looks even worse. Dean sets the mug on the table and puts the cloth to Cas’ forehead carefully. “What can I do?”

Cas still doesn’t meet his eyes, and a slight flush reddens his neck. It might be fever, but it might not, n that’s a dangerous possibility, given Dean’s overactive imagination. When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean reaches out without thinking and lays his hand over Cas’. The reaction is imminent. Cas sighs and closes his eyes, as if Dean had taken all the pain from him.

“What the fuck?” Dean watches as Cas’ skin turns to it usual color again and his chest moves more steadily.

Cas keeps his eyes closed as he murmurs. “It was a spell that would force Charlie and Dorothy to stay in physical contact for 48 hours. They thought it’s romantic. Apparently…” he opens his eyes slowly and finally looks at Dean, apology clear in his eyes, “… the spell missed its target.”

Dean looks down at their combined hands while Cas’ words sink in slowly. Cas’ skin is warm under his palm, soft just like he always imagined it to be. “So you’re saying…”

“We have to hold hands for 48 hours. Unless I find a counterspell. I’m sorry, Dean.” His tone is so grave and earnest. Dean chuckles to hide his shock.

“No problem, buddy, we’ve been through worse. How hard can it be?”

The question echoes through his head two hours later, when Dean and Cas try to cook something for dinner and have to give up halfway through to order take-out. The delivery boy pointedly doesn’t look at their hands – Dean’s sure he’s seen way weirder things in his job – but standing there with Cas’ hands clasped tightly in his own still makes him blush.

They eat the pizza right out of the box and settle on the couch. Cas has one of his old grimoires in his lap while Dean watches a documentary about whales. They’ve spent hundreds of evenings just like this, Dean tells himself, but it’s a lie. The constant contact makes him buzz with a whole bucket of emotions that he did his very best to suppress for a long time. Cas doesn’t seem to mind it that much, just readjusts their hands now and then so he can swap his book with another one from the table. He’s quiet while he reads.

Dean tries to focus on the TV and not on the perfect fit of their hands, but the demon part of himself makes it really hard to ignore the proximity of potential prey. It would be so easy to turn around and crawl into Cas’ lap, shove away their sweats and just sink down … Cas clears his throat and Dean realizes he’s staring at Cas’ crotch. When did Cas put away the book? Dean looks up with a crooked smile and shrugs. “Sorry.”

Cas sighs that weary sigh again, that speaks of self-loathing and something Dean can’t quite name. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I brought you in this situation, knowing full well how averse you are to physical contact.” He rubs his eyes. They must burn like hell after hours of reading.

Dean tugs on Cas’ hand and squeezes it lightly.

“It’s okay, Cas. Good thing it’s a weekend and I hadn’t plans anyway.” He smiles, although it feels a bit brittle. He had plans. Like every weekend, Dean would have gone out in search for someone who wanted to spend the night with him. He made no secret about who he was, his partners knew what they were getting into. Dean told them up front that he needed to feed on their lust and maybe a little life energy, and a surprisingly high number of people were okay with that, even sought him out – because they were curious or because he had a reputation that the night would be worth it.

Dean liked having sex. He liked to make his partners feel good, and he had learned to live with the part of him that was not quite human. But he had always steered clear of relationships. In the beginning, because he enjoyed the no-strings-lifestyle too much, later, because none of the people he met were interested in something serious, and over the last years … well, there was only one person he could imagine to spend his life with, and that person was decidedly uninterested in that kind of thing.

That person is lost in his own thoughts at the moment, curled into the side of the couch with his eyes half-closed. There’s a crease on Cas’ forehead that draws his dark brows closer together and casts shadows over his cheeks. He’s beautiful like this, his full mouth soft and moving as he worries his bottom lip while contemplating.

Dean thinks about those lips a lot these days. How would they feel against his own? Warm and giving? Firm and needy? Dean finds himself licking his own lips while he wonders, gaze intent on every movement of Cas’ mouth. Want stirs deep inside him. It’s a double-headed craving, his human attraction working in synch with his wakening demon. Dean feels himself leaning closer, so he can take in Cas’ scent, the layer of sweat that still smells of his earlier pain and his embarrassment, and the spicy tang underneath that reminds Dean of forbidden, mysterious, delicious things. Things he can’t have and shouldn’t want.

Cas’ face breaks into a big yawn and interrupts Dean’s musings. Dean chuckles low and stands, tugging Cas with him. “Let’s go to bed,” he says, proud that he managed to make it sound casual.

Cas stumbles behind him to the bathroom, where he finds the spare toothbrush in the cabinet and they brush their teeth in silence. Cas is slow, because he uses his weaker left hand, and Dean makes fun of him for his clumsiness. They smile at each other in the mirror over the sink, and Dean’s heart pumps faster from the sheer domesticity of it all. He’d like to brush his teeth next to Cas each night from this day on.

Getting changed needs a bit of maneuvering, and they have to separate for a few seconds so Cas can tug his t-shirt off. Dean stares at the wide expanse of softly tanned skin that’s revealed, the firm muscle of Cas’ chest, the slight dip down to lean hips, and gets stuck on the trail of dark hair that vanishes under the waistband of Cas’ sweatpants. Cas’ moans in pain and grips Dean’s hand as fast as he can after he lost the shirt. He takes a deep breath before he lets go again.

“Now you.”

Dean shakes himself out of his indecent thoughts and rips his Henley over his head in one swift motion before he takes Cas’ hand again. Cas turns and gets two pairs of pajama pants out of the drawer, throwing one back to Dean while he pushes down his sweatpants and kicks them away. Dean’s mouth dries again when he takes in Cas’ backside with the tight black boxer briefs that hug his ass in all the right ways. Thick thighs from running and cycling, which Dean never enjoyed himself, but he can sure as hell appreciate the results. Cas slips into the pajama bottoms and turns, that fucking eyebrow lifting again when he finds Dean still clothed, clutching his own pants to his chest.

Dean blushes for the millionth time that day and bends to take off the rest of his clothes, changes without locking up.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Cas asks without mentioning the fact that he once again caught Dean ogling him. He must think I’m completely controlled by my dick, Dean thinks. Cas never made him feel bad about who he was, always accepted the demon side of him as something natural, but now, for the first time since he knows Cas, he feels ashamed for that part of him. What does he see when he looks at me? A cheap slut, more demon than human? The thought hurts, and Dean points silently to the right side of the bed and crawls under the covers.

“I sleep on my side,” Cas murmurs as if he’s not sure how Dean will react.

“Me too,” Dean answers.

Cas rolls his side and grabs Dean’s hand behind him to put it on his waist. “Will this work?”

Dean inhales deeply to keep his pulse from quickening when he feels Cas’ warm skin under his palm. He keeps as much distance as possible from Cas’ back and tries to get comfortable, to not think about how good it would feel to crawl closer and wrap his arms around Cas.

“Yeah,” he croaks. He’s sure he won’t get any sleep tonight, but he would do far more if Cas asked him to.

The room falls silent. Cas’ breathing evens out slowly. Dean watches as the lights of the city outside draw patterns on Cas’ skin and flicker over his hair. His thumb is moving in small circles over Cas’ hipbone. He does it to soothe himself more than Cas, and he does it because this might be the only chance to do it and commit the feeling to memory. The need inside him softens to a constant buzz right under his skin. After a long while, he falls asleep, too.

 

///

 

Dean awakes with his face squashed into Cas’ armpit and his left leg thrown over Cas’ thighs. He’s hard as a rock and aching, the demon screaming at him to do something, to take what’s offered. Blinking awake slowly, he realized what brought this on. The air is thick with the smell of arousal, nearly choking him. Cas is breathing slow and labored, the movement of his chest heavy under Dean’s cheek. It’s clear Cas is fighting to get himself under control, and Dean’s heart jumps at the chivalry of it.

He gives Cas a minute or two, but it seems futile. Morning wood can be a stubborn bitch. Dean rolls onto his back until they’re lying a few inches apart. Cas hisses, and Dean reaches out to catch his hand and squeeze it.

For a few moments, they are quiet, both on their backs, and Dean risks a quick look down to make sure they’ve still got the same problem. Two pairs of pajamas, on white with grey stripes, one dark blue, both undeniably tented. Despite himself, he chuckles, and after a second or two, he hears the sound of Cas’ deep laughter mingling with his own.

“We didn’t think this through,” Cas wheezes.

Dean nods. “Give me a minute. Then I’ll make us pancakes.”

“Or …”, Cas starts and turns his head to look right at Dean. His eyes are wide and so fucking blue, and something moves in them. Dean knows it all too well, it’s the same look that brought them both into so many dire situations Dean has lost count. He watches helplessly as Cas keeps talking, says the words Dean feared and desperately wished he would say.

“We could… just … take care of it.” Cas’ free hand slides down his stomach but stops right over the low waistband of his pants. “I’ll be quick.” There’s an unmistakable rasp now in his voice, one Dean has never heard from Cas, and it sets his mind reeling and tightens something in his groin. The demon is all for it. Dean himself is not so sure.

“Dean. You haven’t fed in a week, haven’t you?” Cas asks, low and so freaking considerate. “Will it help?” His hand travels a little lower and Cas’ hips rock up just the tiniest of fractions. He sounds breathless.

Dean’s throat is very dry, his heart thumping in his ears. Yeah, it would help, he can already feel Cas’ surge of arousal reviving him. It won’t be the same, and not enough in the long run, but it will help him get through another day bound to Cas. He can only nod.

Cas’ hand slips under the fabric and Dean can see Cas’ fingers wrapping around his dick. He looks down at himself, rubs over the bulge in his pants while he listens to the relieved sigh next to him.

“God, this is embarrassing,” Dean chuckles, mostly to mask the nervous tremor in his voice. “Jerking off next to each other like cliché teenagers.”

Cas smiles and bites his bottom lip, which is just not fair. His perfect teeth sink into the plush red and draw Dean’s eyes to the little peek of tongue that he just make out through the gap.

“I never did this,” Cas rasps, and rocks his hips upward into his fist. His sweats darken where the tip of his cock rubs against the fabric. Dean can smell him in the stale air between them, all the different fragrances both familiar and new. There’s Cas, his friend, a smell like home and trust and warmth, and then there’s the other Cas – the one that moans wantonly next to him and smells like a dare, all dominance and dark spices. Dean breathes it all in and feels the demon purr inside him.

He tightens his hand around his own cock and circles the weeping head with his thumb. Slow strokes, so he can concentrate on Cas, can keep watching him and breathing him in. Cas’ hand that’s not moving inside his pants clasps Dean’s a little tighter. It’s clammy and cool to the touch, but Dean doesn’t’ mind. He weaves their fingers together, shocked at how strangely romantic that feels in the middle of what they’re doing. He casts down his eyes so Cas won’t see his expression, won’t see the surge of happiness the handholding provoked, but he’s too slow.

“Look at me,” Cas demands. Dean’s dick jumps in his hand at the tone, and the demon is all too ready to roll over and let Cas have his way with it. “Please.”

Dean lifts his gaze. The strange intimacy floods back full force. He could drown right now in Cas’ eyes and not regret it for a second. He’d like to pretend that this is an effect of the spell or caused by the demon inside him, but – even if it’s only in his own mind – he’s man enough to admit that’s not the reason happy bubbles are building in his chest. He’s in love with his best friend, has been for years, and as much as he likes stripping his dick next to him, he’d like to kiss him even more.

He always thought Cas might be a fucking mind reader, because Cas licks his lips and leans forward. They both still their hands and Dean tucks his from his pants to wipe it on the sheet. He lets himself flop back onto the bed and sighs. “Don’t.”

“Why.”

“It’s no safe.”

Cas grunts something unintelligible and withdraws his own hand from his pants. “That’s bullshit. Hundreds of strangers can attest to that.”

It’s a low blow and Dean winces. “You don’t even really want this, Cas. It’s the spell talking. We… should take a cold shower or something and try to get through this day, and everything will be back to normal.” He starts to get up, but Cas tugs on their clasped hands until he falls back.

Cas is quiet but his grip is insistent, until Dean turns and faces him again. Holding his gaze steady, Cas pronounces every word as if Dean is a little slow: “It’s. Not. The. Spell.”

A few continental plates realign in Dean’s world, while he processes the meaning of these four words. His own blood rushes loud enough in his ears that he misses Cas’ next words. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The spell. It’s my fault. I thought about you when I cast it, wishing that we could be bound together like Charlie and Dorothy.” His face is open and earnest, careful, as if Dean is a spooked animal which might bolt at any moment.

Dean rubs over his face with his free hand, before he realizes there’s still spunk on it. “Eww, gross.”

Cas chuckles, but sobers up quickly. “What about you?”

“What about me,” Dean mumbles.

“Do you want me?” Cas sounds unsure, and Dean can’t have that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” When Cas only keeps staring at him, he sighs. “I… yeah, I want you.”

“And are you sure it’s not just because of your … disposition?” Leave it to Cas to make it sound like being half-sex demon is something slightly inconvenient like being having a strained ankle or something.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m sure. The demon, it wants to feed and be done with it. As for me…” God, why is this so fucking hard? He swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat and looks done at their hands, lifting them a bit. “I want this.”

One second Cas is sitting quietly next to him, the next Dean is tackled by almost six feet of lean muscle. Cas straddles his thighs, and something hungry moves in his eyes. “I want both,” he murmurs and brings theirs clasped hands to his mouth for a tender kiss, before he leans down until his lips are only a breath away from Dean’s. “May I?”

There are probably a thousand good reasons why Dean should say no, first among them not knowing how his demon will react, if he will be able to stop himself once Cas is his. But right now, all of those reasons are overruled by the single potent craving that lights him up from the inside. He nods, god help him.

Cas doesn’t wait for a written invitation. His lips are dry and warm when he presses them against Dean’s and they both moan at the contact. Cas deepens the kiss gradually, one sensual stroke of his lips at a time, until Dean is trembling beneath him. His demon, usually so quick to demand more, seems completely satisfied, purrs deep inside him with every clever move of Cas’ tongue. He feels more sated already than he has in a very long time. His whole body hums with pleasure – his own and Cas’ – and his dick starts filling out again after the sudden change of course a few minutes ago let his erection flag.

Cas rubs himself against Dean’s groin like a cat. “This is so much better,” he moans. Their cocks bump against each other now and then, and every contact sends shots of heat along Dean’s spine.

“Hmmm-mmhh,” he agrees. “You know what’s even better?”

He reaches down to shove his waistband down to his thighs and grabs Cas’ pants, too. Cas helps him get the fabric out of the way, but gets distracted by the now revealed view of Dean’s dick. Dean preens under the scrutiny. He likes being looked at and his demon likes how much the sight turns Cas on. He’s aching with the need to touch and be touched, but he fights to hold still and let Cas set the pace. Cas, of course, decides to be an asshole about it and teases the tip of his index finger along Dean’s length so excruciatingly slow that Dean is ready to scream in frustration when Cas reaches the sensible head.

“Cas,” Dean whines and wriggles his hips, “not getting any younger here.”

“You’re brat, Dean.” Cas laughs, deep and content, the sound cut off by a groan, when he – finally! – wraps his long fingers around both of them. “I… I think I’ll have to teach you some manners… someday soon.”

Heat surges deep in Dean’s gut at the words and at the friction. Instead of the witty comeback he isn’t able to formulate, he reaches up and curls his hand around Cas’ neck to pull him down again and show Cas what he thinks about that plan. Between shuddering breaths, he bites and sucks on Cas’ bottom lip, delighted in seeing it turn dark and slick and used under his ministrations.

Cas’ hand is relentless. He monitors every single one of Dean’s reactions and exploits them without mercy. Sudden twists and just the perfect amount of pressure turn Dean into a babbling mess in no time. The demon soaks in the apparent fun Cas is having torturing Dean, not even bothering to take Cas’ life force, but perfectly content to feed on the excess energy as if it’s aware of how important Cas is, oh so careful not to hurt him. This will be the end of me, Dean thinks, the demon and Cas are working together to make me lose my mind.

Cas trades the stroking for just holding their cocks together and bucking up into his fist. It changes how they rub against each other, making the motion more carnal and flooding Dean’s mind with images of Cas pounding into him with abandon.

Soon, the rhythm of Cas’ hips gets erratic. Dean rocks up to chase the feeling of their skin against each other. Which, as it turns out, is a bad idea, because they both slip from Cas’ grasp. Dean cries out in frustration. Cas has the audacity to chuckle against Dean’s lips, but he sounds so happy and elated that Dean doesn’t chastise him for it. Instead, fumbles for Cas’ hand and wraps his own around it, tightening their combined hold, and snaps his hips up once again.

“Next time …” he croaks in time with his motions, “next time … we do this … properly.”

Cas hums a question between harsh breaths. He sounds like a broken engine. It’s not clear if he asks when next time will be or what Dean would deem properly, but Dean answers both.

“As soon … as we’ve eaten and … showered … I’ll open myself up for you … and you’ll have to … unghh … wait and stare … not allowed to … touch and then … then you’ll fuck me … senseless.”

“Yes,” Cas groans and his whole body tenses, “god, Dean, all of it, whatever you want, yes.” Cas eyes are wide and glazed over when they meet Dean’s, a concentrated crease between his brows as if he wants to solve a math problem. Dean feels his own face go soft at the sight. It’s adorable, and he would tell Cas as much, if his own climax wouldn’t choose that moment to slam into his spine.

“Fuck,” he wheezes as his body convulses and the first spurts of his release land on his stomach. Cas’ hand keeps moving, and Dean groans while Cas expertly milks him. He can feel Cas’ cock get thicker against his own softening dick, can pinpoint the moment just before Cas’ own orgasm, and the demon practically licks his lips in anticipation of the last course of this feast.

Cas keeps his unseeing eyes open all through it while Dean murmurs nonsensical endearments. When he comes, he does it with a quiet sigh, his mouth forming a surprised “o”, before his come splashes all over Dean’s own. Dean strokes him through it, high from the delight of his demon and his own post-orgasmic haze.

Even Cas collapsing on him and the resulting squelching sound can’t burst his happy bubble. He cups Cas’ head and cards his finger through Cas’ hair like he wanted to for a very long time.

When Cas breathing evens out and his weight becomes a problem because of Dean’s full bladder, Dean pokes him the ribs. “Come on, up, I gotta pee.”

“Can’t,” Cas mumbles with his mouth squashed against Dean’s chest. “Must be the succubus draining me.”

Dean pokes him again. “So that’s how you gonna play this? Blaming the demon for your laziness?”

Cas nods, and Dean has to grin despite himself. He changes his tactic.

“If you let me get up now, I’ll make breakfast. “

“You would have done that anyway,” Cas pouts, but rolls to the side. “Make it quick, before I die in agony.”

“You could just get up, too, you know?” Dean asks as he stumbles over to the bathroom door. But Cas already disappeared beneath the blanket, just his dark, ruffled hair sticking out.

When Dean is alone in the bathroom, he sends a quick text to Charlie, because he’s suddenly pretty sure Cas’ mistake might not have been one at all.

_Thanks guys. Sunday game night is cancelled_

_Dean_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating´](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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